


Formality

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Courtship, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Regular Old Physical Sex, Spooning, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Aziraphale has standards, much to Crowley's chagrin.





	Formality

They were in an Indian restaurant when it finally happened.

They'd ordered enough food for three people, even though Crowley was just sipping a Kingfisher and watching Aziraphale eat. He enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat, in the same way one might enjoy watching a violinist or a three-card monte dealer; Aziraphale did it with such precision and care, and with a kind of gusto that wasn't easy to match.

Aziraphale was lovingly laying waste to a whole dish of paneer tikka masala, extra spicy. "You simply must try this," he told Crowley, sighing. "It is exquisite."

And there was something about his face, or something about him, or something about the fact that an expanse of time, however finite, had unfurled in front of Crowley where it was just him and his angel, and Crowley grinned.

"Maybe I'll get a taste," he said slyly, then leaned over and kissed Aziraphale full on the mouth. 

What he wanted to do, when he pulled away, was to immediately down the rest of his beer, because now his lips were burning like hellfire, but not in a good way. What he actually did was look at Aziraphale with an affectionate, expectant smile.

It slid off his face as Aziraphale failed to respond.

"Sorry," Crowley said, picking up his beer and sipping it to hide his disappointment. "Won't happen again."

"We need to talk," Aziraphale said.

"Sure," Crowley said, vowing to weasel his way out of it.

Aziraphale finished the paneer, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. He let Crowley escort him to the Bentley, and the ride was largely silent; Aziraphale didn't even seem to be panicking as much as usual when Crowley nearly hit things, which he did a lot.

They arrived back at the bookshop, and Crowley pulled up to the curb where he usually left his car. "Be seeing you, angel," he said, as the passenger door opened itself.

"No," Aziraphale said firmly. "You'll come inside, and we'll talk."

"Alright, then," Crowley said, surprised, and Aziraphale waited for him to get out of the car before doing it himself. 

In the shop, Crowley sprawled onto the couch, while Aziraphale sat at the very edge of his desk chair. Crowley very nearly opened a bottle of wine, but something told him it wasn't what Aziraphale wanted.

"I owe you something of an explanation," Aziraphale said.

"I'd like one, if it's not too much trouble," Crowley replied. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize again for earlier, which tasted foul in his mouth.

"I am not unaware that we are close and have been for some time," Aziraphale said. "That doesn't mean I'm not particular about certain things."

"Like PDA?" Crowley asked, and Aziraphale looked confused. "Public kissing, that sort of thing."

"That's part of it," Aziraphale said. "I may be largely retired from being an angel, but I do have standards."

"Oof," Crowley said, in the parlance of the time, because it did feel like getting smacked in the stomach.

"No!" Aziraphale said, his eyes wide. "No, that came out as wrong as it possibly could have. No, I meant that I have certain expectations about being courted, and I'm not inclined to jump into bed with someone no matter how much I may want them."

"So you do want me, then," Crowley said, seizing on what little victory he had.

"I am perfectly willing to hear you out if you attempt to press your suit," Aziraphale said primly.

Crowley had no idea how Aziraphale had gotten through six thousand years of human courtship and only internalized the prudish parts. "This is not how I saw this going," he said. "I thought you would be-" he made a hand gesture that failed to explain his point.

"Whatever were you expecting?" Aziraphale said, frowning.

"An angel in the streets and a freak in the sheets?" Crowley said. "I know exactly what men used to do in Portland Place."

"You weren't even awake," Aziraphale said, which didn't seem germane. "I cared deeply about those young men, and I didn't simply take them to bed."

"Sure," Crowley said. "Almost altruistic of you, was it?"

"Are you still trying to tempt me, or have you decided I'm loose because of something from decades ago?" Aziraphale said.

"One, I haven't even begun to tempt you, and two, loose is the last word anyone would use for you," Crowley said. 

"Look, it's very simple," Aziraphale said, which Crowley doubted. "If I were to hop into bed with you immediately, your opinion of me would inevitably suffer."

"Because you think that I think that would make you a slut," Crowley said. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Not in so many words, but yes."

"I love sluts," Crowley said, feeling a little bewildered. "All the sluttiest parts of history are my favorites. Some of my favorite people are sluts." He indicated his body. "Like me, for example. I'm a huge slut."

"So you do think I'm fast," Aziraphale said, tripping on the last word, even though it wasn't what Crowley said at all.

"Even if I did, I would love that about you," Crowley said.

"It isn't about what I think of you, or really even what you think about me," Aziraphale said, looking frustrated. "It's about what I would like to believe about myself."

Crowley got it suddenly, what Aziraphale meant; there were also a lot of fictions that Crowley was maintaining about himself, and if Aziraphale needed this one, he could play along. Aziraphale had often done him the same kindness.

What Aziraphale didn't know, and indeed, no living soul knew, was that Crowley was tired of seduction. He loved the pleasures of the flesh, and he could tip someone over if they were on the edge, but most of his dalliances had been with people who were already sinners. It was more honest and saved him a lot of time. He had no patience for the slow dance, the careful strategy, the perfect word; he liked a straightforward temptation, done in time for lunch, which he would probably have with Aziraphale. 

Crowley straightened. "I, Anthony J. Crowley, am announcing my suit," he said. "I'm going to wine you and dine you, with a view towards eventually bedding you." He shrugged. "Among other things."

"I am obliged to accept," Aziraphale said.

"I absolutely draw the line at chaperones," Crowley said.

"I believe that's quite unnecessary," Aziraphale said. He adjusted in his seat. "How do you propose to begin?"

"Uh," Crowley said. He ran through his mental list of Things Aziraphale Liked, filtering it by activities that provided seductive potential. "Would you like to go to the symphony?"

"That seems quite a traditional gambit," Aziraphale said.

"I'll grant you that," Crowley said. "But you like it, so what's the harm?"

"I accept," Aziraphale said. "So long as it's not Wagner."

"Agreed," Crowley said. He looked around. "Should I leave?"

"Why?" Aziraphale asked.

"I thought not being together was part of courting," Crowley said. "Absence and the heart, et cetera."

"I don't see why we should do all that," Aziraphale said dismissively, and they got through a whole bottle of cabernet without touching at all.

But Crowley did take him to the symphony. They had quite good seats, and it was Chopin, which was terrifically romantic. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed, and Crowley really wanted to kiss him again, which was counterproductive. Instead, in the manner of people ever since there had been adjoining chairs, he stretched his arm out and left it incidentally on the back of Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale made no attempt to move away from him, even when he sat back and found Crowley's arm. Crowley was bold enough to drape it around Aziraphale's shoulders, because this is what he had been reduced to; he'd brought about the downfall of mankind with a few well-placed whispers, and now he was worried about the delicacy of the smallest bout of half-cuddling in a darkened theater.

What Crowley thought, but didn't say, was that if they were going to go to all this trouble, Aziraphale had better be up for all the truly weird sex you could have when you were immortal spirits inhabiting almost infinitely adaptable physical forms. From what Crowley understood, it could get very strange, and he intended to try all of it.

It didn't end there, though Crowley wouldn't have minded if it had. He and Aziraphale still spent time together, but there was an extra layer now, things they were doing that had new meaning. Crowley paid for any number of meals, but his next gambit was a whiskey tasting. Aziraphale loved whiskey, though he never deigned to drink bad whiskey, unlike some of the highly questionable wine they'd shared over the years.

It was one of those deals in a bar with a secret room that looked like a library, and Aziraphale looked so perfectly at home, like this was very specifically what his element was. The woman running the tasting clearly thought they were a couple, which is what Crowley was going for, and she got in some gently nudging humor that made Aziraphale smile, with just the barest hint of a blush. Crowley encouraged it, putting a hand on Aziraphale's knee and not taking it away.

Crowley watched Aziraphale sip the whiskey delicately and wanted to pounce on him.

It should be understood that the force of Crowley's desire arose from something other than Aziraphale's physical form; there was much more to it than that. Aziraphale did not have a body made for sin. Aziraphale had a body made for spooning under a warm blanket on a Saturday afternoon while the rain fell gently outside and soft jazz played from a hi-fi.

Crowley had thought about it once or twice, maybe.

Afterwards, Aziraphale sat on the couch next to him. He leaned heavily into Crowley's side, and Crowley put an arm around him, petting his hair. That was when Crowley finally snuck in for another kiss; Aziraphale was much more receptive this time, opening up for him, but he eventually moved away before it got too far. Crowley wanted to protest, stamp his feet, maybe even beg for more, but he just let it happen instead. Two things motivated him to continue to play along: the conviction that Aziraphale was worth every second of waiting; and sheer bloody-mindedness.

So Crowley kept at it. He didn't have another choice, really; if the choices were not having Aziraphale and indulging what struck him more as Aziraphale's kink than anything else, he knew what he was going to do. So he stuck it out through a trip to the zoo, and holding hands in the park, and some business involving a boat rental, because if Aziraphale wanted to fulfill some fantasy of a courtship, he was damned well going to get it.

Two more torturous weeks went by. You may, reading this, see that two weeks is hardly any time when laid out next to six thousand years; it's hardly any time laid out next to five years, or one year, or, truly, even six months. This is because you're not in Crowley's shoes, having already waited for all those six thousand years and suddenly stalled out within inches of the goal. 

Either way, they'd just gotten through a movie where they sat for ten minutes and then made out furiously for the remainder of the runtime, the theater being miraculously empty. Aziraphale looked delicious afterwards, his lips reddened from kissing, and Crowley had to kiss him again; Aziraphale didn't pull away, even though they were still in the lobby of the theater, people around them.

When they arrived back at the bookshop, Aziraphale invited him up. Crowley was just nearly getting used to the new normal, but Aziraphale didn't sit next to him. He stood instead, looking at Crowley with a kind of resolve, and Crowley just knew.

"I, er," Aziraphale said. "That is, if you were still interested after all this, though I suspect you would have stopped by now if you weren't-"

Crowley took him by the hand. "Anything you want, angel," he said genuinely. He was prepared to fulfill that promise; the only things he couldn't do immediately involved multiple people, and even then, he could almost certainly get someone on the phone.

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's hair, and Crowley sighed. The one benefit to this whole ordeal was that it made every touch imbued with meaning; he saw now why people liked courting in the first place. He still wouldn't have done it given the choice. He'd already been madly in love with Aziraphale long before they ever started, so the impact was, at best, marginal.

He tugged Aziraphale forward, and Aziraphale had nowhere to go except Crowley's lap, which is exactly where he landed. Crowley kissed him intently, and Aziraphale gladly gave in. It was obvious, pressed together like this, that Aziraphale was making quite an effort, and Crowley thrust up against him, Aziraphale answering by groaning into his mouth.

"I did some reading," Crowley said, when they parted.

Aziraphale was taken aback. "You did?"

What Crowley had actually read was a book that was kept bound in black fabric with holy sigils on it in an archive that didn't exist run by an order that no one had ever heard of. He'd read it by candlelight in a windowless room, the sunlight being too dangerous. It was the only book that had ever been written about sex between angels and demons by a demon; he didn't know if Aziraphale knew they weren't going to be the first, but Crowley was determined to do it as thoroughly as possible.

He almost nicked it to give to Aziraphale, because the woodcuts really were quite stimulating, but he decided against it.

"I have an idea, if you want to try it," Crowley said. "There is a slight chance that we'll accidentally fuse into one being, and I have no idea what'd happen if we did."

Aziraphale looked skeptical. "Are you proposing some sort of metaphysical joining, apart from the physical kind?"

"Yes," Crowley said. "Come to bed and I'll explain."

They spent a long time in bed, kissing and talking, with some groping and licking just to keep things interesting. At last, Aziraphale lay on his stomach, Crowley behind him; if Crowley just slid forward, they'd be joined, but that would come soon enough.

"Are you ready?" Crowley asked. He was ready for so many things and had been for a while, but he was only one half of the equation.

"Yes," Aziraphale said. "Please."

Crowley placed his hands on the side of Aziraphale's head; he didn't actually need to, but physical touch made it much easier, for whatever reason. He shut his eyes, concentrating on Aziraphale and nothing else, the rest of the world falling away.

Slowly, delicately, he pushed just the slightest bit into Aziraphale's mind. He didn't need or want him to see everything, but Aziraphale had to know at least the outside of it. He focused on just his lust, how desperately he needed Aziraphale, how single minded his desire was. It wasn't all he could think of, but it was what he needed Aziraphale to know.

Crowley hadn't been expecting the backdraft. As he pushed forward, Aziraphale's mind rushed in and filled the hole that he left. Suddenly he was swept up in a love so fierce that he thought it might discorporate him right there. He saw himself repeated infinitely, times where he'd done any number of things, instants where Aziraphale loved him catalogued carefully. It surprised him so much that he pushed in further, needing to give Aziraphale more, at least the barest surface of Crowley's love. 

It was intoxicating, in a way Crowley had never experienced before. He seemed to be suspended indefinitely in a vast ocean made of nothing but sensation. He'd never felt anything remotely like it, not even when they'd swapped; it wasn't that he was Aziraphale, but that he was everything _to_ Aziraphale. In the very background he could feel what Aziraphale felt, sinking further into Crowley, dipping into his tremulous, desperate love for Aziraphale, but it seemed so far away.

It struck him that he might die like this, subsumed into Aziraphale, and nothing about it scared him.

Crowley had to get out, as much as he needed to stay. He focused, and he could feel Aziraphale focus, and then there was a sound like breaking glass as Crowley returned to his own body. He was panting, and so was Aziraphale, who ground himself against the bed, writhing desperately. "Take me, please," he begged, fucked up on how much Crowley wanted him. "I need you so badly."

The physical part could have felt unnecessary; it could have paled in comparison. Instead it was everything they needed, somewhere to focus all that energy, discharge it so it didn't burn them up from inside. Crowley pushed in easily, one thrust, and Aziraphale's back arched. 

"More," Aziraphale panted, and Crowley readily gave it to him, fucking him in long strokes, hands on either side of Aziraphale's perfect ass to hold him open.

"I love you so much," Crowley said fervently, and they weren't Aziraphale's words; the feeling he got when they touched just knocked something loose that was stuck, made it so easy to say. "I love you more than anything."

Aziraphale didn't say it back, but Crowley didn't mind at all; he'd already said it in the most effusive way possible, so that Crowley couldn't unknow it even if he tried.

Underneath him, Aziraphale was the most beautiful thing in all creation, and Crowley moved faster, trying to make it as good for him as possible. He felt electricity every time his fingers touched Aziraphale's skin, like they were charged with lightning. Aziraphale broke out in a sob, and Crowley heard it for what it was, the sound of someone who _needed_ so badly that words failed. Crowley knew exactly how he felt, to the minutest level, and for a moment he reveled in it, that he had made Aziraphale that way.

He bent down, fucking Aziraphale quickly. "My dear," he said, and Aziraphale gasped as Crowley bit down on his shoulder. "My love, I know what you need."

"Give it to me," Aziraphale begged. "Please, I need you, I want you, _please_."

Crowley kissed the shell of his ear before leaning backwards. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley went onto his knees, carrying Aziraphale with him, leaving him spread across Crowley's thighs. One of Crowley's hands came up to encircle his throat gently, the other wrapping around Aziraphale's cock. Crowley fucked up into him quickly, scattering kisses all over his shoulders, the nape of his neck, and Aziraphale panted, pushing back against him, riding Crowley for all he was worth.

"Let go for me, angel," Crowley said softly. "I'm right here with you."

Aziraphale keened, a sound of desperation and longing so pure that it filled Crowley's gut with heat. Crowley moved his hand faster, increased his strokes, did everything he could so that this singular creature could have what he needed so much.

Then Aziraphale came so hard that his wings extended, slapping Crowley in the face.

Crowley spat out a feather and kept going.

Afterwards, they lay next to each other, Aziraphale on his stomach, Crowley on his side. Aziraphale had never actually gotten around to putting his wings away, and he draped one over Crowley; the gesture felt possessive, in a way that Crowley found deeply pleasing.

"See?" Aziraphale said muzzily. "Wasn't that all worth it?"

Crowley wanted to opine that it would have still been that good if they hadn't been through the whole rigamarole beforehand, but he rethought it. Maybe it wouldn't have been as good for Aziraphale, not doing it all above board and to his own standards and everything, and the last thing Crowley wanted was things not to be perfect for Aziraphale.

"I do believe so," Crowley said.

He turned over and wiggled around, adjusting so that he was tucked against Aziraphale's body, making himself the little spoon; they couldn't do it the other way with the wings, and also being the little spoon was a pleasure most people his height didn't get. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, putting his arm around Crowley's waist and sheltering him under his wing, safe and warm.

And if there was a rainstorm that day that only covered one city block, no one mentioned it. Surely it happened all the time.


End file.
